


StriKe Match (Microfic Collection)

by magic



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Microfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic/pseuds/magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten microfics based on Mikoto/Yata, from every genre.</p><blockquote>
  <p>If Mikoto's a slow burning flame, reaching out for whatever oxygen he can get, then Yata's the unrelenting wind coaxing him back to life. Too much and he'll be gone, but without it he could never have burned as bright.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	StriKe Match (Microfic Collection)

**1\. Angst**

It's the third time that someone asks him what's wrong when he snaps. Because it should be obvious. Tatara is dead for fuck's sake and what reason would he have to _not_ want to grab someone by their shirt front and take it out on them instead, because they're breathing and he isn't. And that's what Yata knows he should be feeling, should be thinking, why the drag of his knuckles against the nearest wall and the pain that lingers should feel right, because everything else is wrong.

Except that isn't why his chest is tighter usual. Every breath like a needle of ice as he thinks about how much easier things would be with Mikoto there. And how even though he knows he's the one that's alive, breathing and out there in someone else's hands, he still feels further away than someone without a pulse. Maybe he always has been.

  
 **2\. AU**

"You broke... _it_ ," Mikoto says with an uninterested drawl as he lets the cigarette pivot in his mouth, his hand going to the back of his head and ruffling the hair there. He does has the decency to sigh.

"You don't even know his fucking _name_ , Suoh-sensei," Yata says with a scowl, much more interested in how his skateboard's dented beyond belief than the broken bust of the school's founding father's head, scattered into pieces all over the courtyard. 

Mikoto shrugs, flicking the ash with his fingers and adding to the mess before then letting out a cloud of smoke in the almost empty courtyard. Something about a mandatory school assembly that afternoon, so it was inevitable that the two of them would meet during it.

Grabbing at Yata's collar, the teacher hoists the brat up and smiles at the fact that he struggles at first, limbs reaching out and clawing before he realizes _who_ the one is that has him and stills, cheeks reddening. Mikoto can always count on that look to help him through the day. He crushes the butt underneath his shoe, letting his student down but not before yanking at the undone black and red tie around his neck with a haughty laugh that rarely gets heard by anyone else.

"Spill which one of you has booze in their shoe locker and we'll forget all about this little incident, Yata-chan."

"You assh-" Yata starts, before inhaling and then giving Mikoto a grin in return, turning around and unfolding his arms as he meets his teacher's eyes, a hint if danger and want in them. "Deal. Just let me stay in your classroom for the rest of the day and Munakata won't figure out that Anna's the one that grades all your papers along with the student evaluations."

Mikoto grunts in the affirmative as the two start walking from the broken statue head and scene of the crime, pulling another cigarette out and putting his arm over the shoulder of his favorite problem student. 

  
**3\. Crack**

Whoever ordered the strippers to the HOMURA bar for the night of Yata's eighteenth birthday never ended up confessing.

It all happened so quickly, Tatara laughing as Mikoto picked Anna and her cherry flavored drink and moved the girl to her bedroom upstairs in a rush, as the women descended onto every clan member in the room without a second thought. Kusanagi actually forgave Yata for breaking the glass he had been holding, because after all it was his birthday. Which he hadn't told anyone about... and everyone that paid at least the minimal amount of attention knew that this was a terrible surprise. More close to a cheap joke, really.

The girls are nice enough, though. Classier than normal and yet didn't seem the type that Scepter4 would dirty their hands with. It's only a few minutes after the party had gotten started, with music and some dancing, that one of the girls with color changing highlights in her hair says, "And Yata-Chan! The birthday boy himself! You deserve something _special_."

The groan that's let out by Yata as he had tried to make himself as invisible in one of the corners of the bar is easily covered up by a lower voice, assertive none the less as it carries through the room. 

"I've already got Yata's present right here," Mikoto offers, holding up a small decorated cake that looks as though Anna had known to have it prepared by seeing into the future, and, well. Yata scowls a bit.

"So, take care of everyone else, I'll take care of him, and your bills. Just let me know who's idea it was to invite you lovely ladies before the end of the night." Mikoto speaks like snake venom would take you, forcefully and without an option and still enough for you to want it running strong and dangerously through your veins. He kisses the stripper's cheek, making her flush, before walking over to the corner where Yata's jaw is still agape.

He looks down at Yata, as if to ask him if it's okay before shoving the younger man to sit down on the arm chair with one hand, a hint of a smile on his face. He doesn't look at anyone else in the bar and for some reason no one's paying attention to either of them, probably too busy with the strippers or too wise to do so, as Mikoto drapes his body against Yata's. He'a sitting comfortably and heavy in his lap as he pulls off the hat that Yata always has on his head as his fingers linger in the hair, meeting his vanguard's eyes and letting the contact stay there for too long.

"Mind just having me as your entertainment for tonight?" He asks, whether he's talking about stripping, the lack of, or the possibility of a personal show, and yeah, Yata can't function right. He does what he always does when he can't think of an actual plan, the first thing that pops his head.

Apparently being this close already helps, because he says, "thanks, Mikoto-san," against inviting lips. Yata can taste the strawberry cake that Mikoto had already stolen a few bites of, and seems to want to share with him with every movement of his mouth as they enjoy it together, limbs fitting against each other.

  
 **4\. Crossover**

"Forgive me father for I have sinned," Yata grumbles and taps a tune out on the headphones that are still wrapped around his neck in the confession both. "It's been three jack offs and two days since my last confession."

After what could be considered a charitable groan; he hears, "Not as energetic as you used to be. Find your own repentance though God, we have work. " through the shade on the confessional and meets where he assumes Father Mikoto's eyes are. 

The two of them get out of the useless thing and step back into the church, Mikoto still dressed up like he always is and looking just sinful for a priest, and Yata's blood red sword on his back sheath as he waits petulantly for his teacher to pull the keys out so they can stock up for tonight's exorcisms. 

"You'll be going to learn at True Cross academy soon, Yata." He says as he opens a door at random, but with the magic keys, stretches to any holy place they need to go, the light welcoming them both.

"Bullshit. I've got you." Because later on that night when he feels the thrill of demon blood running through his own veins, and how Mikoto taught him to use his curse for exorcism, the man never breaking stride beside him as they fight together that night - he knows this is what they were meant for. He doesn't need anyone else.

  
 **5\. First Time**

He knows that he belongs to the red king the second he feels the burn on his outstretched hand. The mark that ends up tattooed in time with his chest, red always burning bright, and he belongs to something, and someone. And everyone's tied here with blood and bond, but to Yata there's so much more in what he puts in to the clan, which is his all.

It's late one night, when there's a hand beckoning to him and Yata stays in Mikoto's room after everyone's cleared out. Another nightmare, they've been told. Yata turns off the light and debates on if he should slowly make his exit as well, when Mikoto says, "Yata," his hand burning red in the dark and reaching out to him. 

Yata lets out a breath, walking towards the bed and holds his own hand out, fingers lacing and providing an anchor that the both of them needed. Yata can feel the pulse that's beating against his own.

"Stay with me," and that's all that needs to be said. Yata lets himself settle on the side of the bed, bodies lying close enough, quiet and intense in the way that he's sure of like nothing else. 

It's then that he first realizes that he might be the red king's, but the king is his as well. He feels arms move around him, strong. The two of them are grounded in one another thanks to the warm heat that they share just by being near each other. Mikoto sleeps soundly, that night.

  
 **6\. Fluff**

When he feels hot hands full of intent, he thinks he's a goddamn Saint. He can't help but move against them at first and think, _frisky drunk_. But that isn't exactly true. 

Yata is one of the only ones of them that _hasn't_ turned to cigarettes or alcohol, either before or after joining and no one really knew why, but they respected if all the same as they respected the fact that they could light up in front of the kid. So the one night that Yata does get drunk it was in front of everyone else, a celebration party of sorts and maybe everyone else was enjoying it a bit too much to notice that he'd been more stoic than usual, quiet and reserved but keeping an eye on everything at the same time. Mikoto had noticed.

His lips taste like the hard stuff and they're moving lazily against Mikoto's neck now, and this is new. They're in a separate room and after a moment of contemplation, he amends himself. _Determined drunk_ , because the smiles he's felt across the room apparently haven't been for waste, Yata's hands moving to Mikoto's belt, his white shirt already stretched to Hell and, yeah, he's a bloody fucking _Saint._

He puts a finger under Yata's chin, looking down at him and wanting to say the opposite. Because his cheeks are flushed and he looks so damn proud of himself, eyes wide and at the same time still mischievous and, "No," Mikoto says, voice rough and having to take a step back so Yata doesn't realize that his whole entire body is saying yes, anyway.

"Don't be a pussy," Yata says, no real malice in his voice as he lets his face press against Mikoto's chest, mumbling. "You look at me, too."

Mikoto shakes his head, letting out a soundless laugh before he makes sure Yata's looking at him again, listening as his hand is wrapped around the nape of his neck. "No. Just not _tonight_. Want you to remember."

Yata sighs, but stills and steps on his tip-toes, arms going around Mikoto's shoulders before saying, "Yeah, me too."

"Fine. It's a promise, cocktease," he adds for good measure and a punch to the side. Mikoto doesn't see the harm in another kiss.

  
 **7\. Humor**

When the next person walks through the door and it's Yata's turn to answer, he's grateful when he sees men's shoes instead of high heels, his gaze averted to the floor since this whole charade started. Whoever had thought that all of them dressing up as _butlers_ to encourage patronage by more women was... well, he'd be angry if he wasn't humiliated.

"Welcome Goshujin-sama," he offers through a mumble as the rest of the guys have started to hold back laughs. "Is there anything I can do to make your stay comfortable."

There's barks of laughter as Yata's head snaps up, realizing exactly _whose_ shoes those are and oh, fuck. 

"S'long as you keep the outfit I'll be satisfied."

  
 **8\. Hurt/Comfort**

"I'm not a fucking kid," Yata spits out with a mouth full of blood, and thankfully no actual teeth. Even though everything still hurts and is spinning, he's furious because he doesn't want to be treated like one, less than useful. "I'm fine! Kamamoto's not being dragged back here!"

He's in one of the storage rooms of the bar. It's only been a week since he'd joined HOMURA, and even if he's still getting used to everything that comes with the powers that doesn't mean he can't take a few blows. Besides, whenever anyone else has gotten hurt it's been Tatara's room they were dragged to even in semi-states of consciousness. And Kusanagi was anything but delicate when he'd grabbed Yata from the bloodstained bunch and promptly dropped him on some boxes he knew weren't breakable in the back room. The bartender slaps his hands together, dispersing dust from them before cheerfully saying, "Bosses orders!" and exiting the room, but not before throwing an ice pack at Yata's head. 

That's all it takes for his mood to cool, leaning back with his knees crooked on the side of a box, swinging occasionally as he takes a breath. He isn't sure if this is supposed to be a timeout, or what the fuck ever but if Mikoto wanted it... He grumbles, taking the pack off gingerly and sitting up as he puts his fingers to his face, the open skin stinging. He'd get accelerated healing with time, he'd been told. Just how much was up to him. 

He feels a pair of fingers ghost against his jaw and he jumps, too caught up in his own thoughts as he looks around, fight or flight response still steadily ingrained in his skull even if this is home now. He turns and sees Mikoto himself in the dim light, the elder man sitting tiredly next to him and rolling his shoulders as he starts to open a typical first aid kit.

"Tatara said with this, I'd either kill you or make you stronger," he muses aloud, dousing wipe with disinfectant before he waits for Yata to brace himself for the sting, and presses it against his raw skin. Yata hasn't seen Mikoto do any actual healing with his aura, but figures it's there if he intends to use more than just bandages.

"Mikoto-san..." Yata starts, his chest hurting more than every other broken thing in his body from the fight he'd just had. He doesn't know what's happening, if he's going to be kicked out because he can't stop acting instead of thinking, if everything that happened today was his fault, what he needs to _do_ to continue being a part of this which is everything, because he'd do anything for Mikoto and -

"I want it to be the second one." The words are heavy and resolute, the way only a king can speak. Mikoto's fingers are delicate as he starts to put bandages on the side of Yata's jaw, his fingers examining it as well since it could be out of place. "You're going to be my vanguard."

Yata stays quiet, eyes burning and it doesn't have anything to do with his torn skin or bruises. "You want... me?"

Mikoto nods, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Break any ribs?"

  
 **9\. Smut**

Everything about him is like a fever. From the way he'd used his mouth, slow and like he'd never stop, never wanted to, to the way the flush on his skin seems to burn as Mikoto keeps his hips steady, still. Yata lets out a breath that breaks halfway through, losing itself to a groan as he rocks his hips against fingers, never saying the word _more_ aloud, but wanting it just as desperately. 

"Look at me," Mikoto says, his mouth biting a mark onto a hipbone, painful enough to get another sound out of the boy as he keeps his eyes steady, waiting for Yata to comply and take his forearm from off his eyes. It's covering too much of his face and there's no way that Mikoto wants to miss a second of this.

He's taking Yata apart, piece by piece. He's being allowed to.

He's patient enough that it's Yata that asks for more, his fingers clawing for purchase against the bed as he finally says, "King," like it's a dream or something else he can't believe. Which might be why Mikoto suddenly wants. This is happening, and he wants Yata to _know_ that more than anything else.

He stops moving his fingers, his body hot and desperate but he says, "Say my name," as he thrusts in, hard. 

They move at a rough pace, nothing ever quite enough and every time Yata says, _Mikoto_ , through a moan or a gasp or a plea, it holds something different. 

Mikoto can't stop breathing him in, wanting to devour everything.

  
 **10\. UST**

Mikoto chooses his words as wisely as he can, and has no explanation as to why. It isn't so much because of his position, but every word he lets out lately has felt more and more like a chore, something that drains his body of energy needed elsewhere. He's tired, sitting in his comfortable armchair and wondering how Yata can be so different from himself.

Yata does have a point, though. Even if his point is obscenely loud since his vanguard is under the impression that if it's worth feeling it's worth shouting about. But the point doesn't escape Mikoto, as he watches Yata prowl back and forth through his room yelling about how they need to kill Fushimi, that there isn't a choice and that he's a traitor. He shouldn't be allowed to breathe the same air as them, shouldn't have ever been given a matching mark to Yata, should've burned up in flames after touching Mikoto's hand like a good number applicants have.

They'll make a plan later, once Mikoto's had some time to think about it and assess the actual damages. But as he pulls a cigarette out of his pocket he looks at Yata, who still hasn't stopped after all of his yelling and screaming and pure frustration.

Mikoto wants to ask why Yata can get this way about Fushimi without pause. He's never gotten this much raw emotion from him, after all. Why that traitor matters more. But there aren't the right words, as he holds it out and Yata lights the tip of the smoke without thought, going right back to his tirade. 

He doesn't close any distance. It isn't the time.

If Mikoto's a slow burning flame, reaching out for whatever oxygen he can get, then Yata's the unrelenting wind coaxing him back to life. Too much and he'll be gone, but without it he could never have burned as bright.

**Author's Note:**

> [They really did dress up as butlers](http://kidsfromhomura.tumblr.com/post/33458854771/k-web-radio-drama-series-summary-5). Comments/kuddos greatly appreciated! I might do microfics for other K pairings soon.


End file.
